Making Good On Promises
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: A collection of one-shots inspired by Spoby prompts on Tumblr. Includes A-Team Toby, protective Toby, pregnant Spencer, jealous Toby, and more.
1. Hostage

_**A/N:** Hey y'all. I started doing some prompts on Tumblr (the idea for which was inspired by the beautiful Bree), and I dunno how many I'll get, but I'm hoping to keep them all in one place. If you'd like to read any in the future, sign up for alerts on this story._

_Let's begin._

**PROMPT**: _Mona puts toby to the test to see if he's really loyal to the -A team but getting another member to hurt Spencer in front of him, and then Toby goes all cray-cray angry that someone hurt Spencer and he saves her and its all happy and cute - you should write something like that, i love protective Toby :) _

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**Hostage**

The very second his consciousness returned, he was greeted with a pounding headache. It felt as though he had been run over by an unmerciful steamroller and somehow lived to tell the tale. His entire body ached, and he had no idea where he was. His recollection of what had happened was fuzzy, and he was having difficulty concentrating long enough to remember what happened. He could only make out the blurred silhouettes of the shapes before him; their voices were muffled, as though he was listening from underwater.

It was the rusty taste of blood in his mouth that ultimately jogged his memory. He remembered that he had been jumped in Bucks County while walking home from work. He could recall his surprise – he had left Rosewood to escape these exact sorts of threats, only to walk right into a trap he had been sorely unprepared for.

He hadn't seen their faces. But he _had_ seen the black hoodies. And that was sufficient to clue him into what was going on.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, attempting to make the stars in his vision disappear. When he reopened them, the people in front of him slowly began to take form.

Mona. There was no surprise there. She had been on his case for weeks, trying to get him to return to Rosewood and 'finish what he started.' The figure of Noel Kahn did little to startle him, either, for Toby was one of the few people in town that was privy to his involvement in the A-Team.

But the third person he spotted caused his breath to hitch in his lungs. It was Spencer – some disheveled, unkempt version of her, anyway – tied to the rocking chair he had constructed for her last January. A familiar shade of blue fabric was being used to gag her, and with horror he realized it was the sleeve of the shirt she had claimed as her own after their stake-out at the Edgewood Motor Court.

"Spencer," he breathed, instinctively making his way to go to her. This impulsive movement, however, resulted in him bouncing backward immediately. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, finding that his hands had been cuffed to a pipe behind his back.

Spencer was unable to coherently reply, but she whimpered pleadingly at him, silent tears streaming down her otherwise perfect features.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Mona mused. She was perched on a dilapidated desk nearby, filing her fingernails casually. In light of the current situation, the neutrality in her voice was substantially frightening.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, tugging uselessly against his bondage. The most this accomplished was a painful digging sensation in his wrists.

Mona hummed thoughtfully. She had not even regarded him with eye contact yet. "Showing you the error of your ways."

He gulped against the troublesome lump in his throat, feeling the blood in his veins run cold at this declaration. He knew her well enough by now to understand precisely what she was intending to do.

"Leave her out of this," he hissed.

"I'm not sure you're in any position to be making demands," Mona replied nonchalantly. "Noel. You know what to do."

Noel cracked his knuckles, a devilish smile spreading across his lips as he approached Spencer. She struggled against the ropes, breathing so rapidly that Toby feared she was hyperventilating. Noel had unearthed a pocket knife, which only prompted strangled sobbing noises from deep within her throat.

Toby bucked wildly against the cuffs. Despite the fact that he was getting nowhere fast, he continued the futile efforts.

Noel was lowering the knife to her face, dragging it precariously down the length of her temple. Her eyes were alight with fear when they met Toby's, and he felt his heart anxiously skip a beat. Noel smirked in Toby's direction as he brought his face down into the crook of Spencer's neck, planting a filthy trail with his lips.

"Get your hands off her!" he growled.

"I've always found Hastings to be a hot little bitch," he mused, raising his eyes to challenge Toby. He was pressing the serrated edge of the blade against Spencer's throat with one hand, and stroking her hair possessively with the other.

"Don't fucking touch her!" Toby hollered, pulling against the cuffs so roughly now that he could feel the warm trickle of blood on the insides of his wrists.

"I should have you know, Cavanaugh," Mona began lazily, kicking her feet up onto a shelf beside the desk, "that this was meant to be a test. And you're failing miserably."

He scanned the room desperately, looking for some brilliant exit strategy. When his gaze returned back to Spencer's, there was a terrified darkness behind her eyes. But there was also something else – love. Gratitude. Disbelief.

"What is it, then?" he cried. "What do you want me to do? I'll do anything, if you just _leave her alone_."

"It's not about what we want you to do," Mona murmured. "It's about what we _don't _want you to do."

Toby released a guttural sound from somewhere deep in his diaphragm, feeling more murderous by the second. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that we brought you here to test your loyalty. The object of this game is to let us do what we need to do, and keep your feelings out of it. It's been getting on my last nerve for some time now."

Toby was chewing exasperatedly on his bottom lip, and suddenly the taste of rust had returned as he drew blood. He had found a seam in the pipes behind him, where two separate pieces were bolted sloppily together. He had spent enough time working on houses, and though he was no expert in plumbing, he was well aware that this design flaw would be his only way out.

Noel was fingering the buttons on Spencer's blouse suggestively, looking at Toby all-the-while for a reaction. And Toby was desperately trying to ignore it – long enough to keep Mona distracted.

"So deal with me. This has nothing to do with her!"

Mona's eyes flashed dangerously to his, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had regained consciousness. She whipped the nail file furiously to the ground, leaping to her feet to join Noel beside Spencer.

"It has everything to do with her!" she screeched. She grabbed Spencer's chin roughly in her hand, lifting her face toward Toby's field of vision. Spencer inhaled sharply in reply. "What is it about her, Toby? What is it about this stupid, useless, insufferable _bitch _that has you so confused about the man you're meant to be? Look at her, Toby. FUCKING LOOK AT HER."

He could feel the hot presence of tears streaming down his cheeks now as his eyes met Spencer's. Behind the fear he saw warmth there. Forgiveness. Understanding for him doing what he had to do. And nothing in this world could possibly make his heart soar the way those gentle eyes did.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. He hardly recognized the raspiness of his own voice, struggling against the urge to cry. "I love you. I'm so sorry."

A meek sob escaped her throat, and he knew she understood.

Mona continued on, as though he had not interrupted.

"The funniest part is – despite everything – despite how much I loathe her – she's still way out of your league, Toby."

He knew what she was trying to do. She was attempting to draw on his insecurities to anesthetize him all over again. Numb him against any useless emotions. Weaken him to bend to her will. He knew she was right, of course – he had never deserved Spencer. Not in a million years. But he was not about to let Mona Vanderwaal break him. Not this time.

"You're missing the point of this exercise," Mona concluded quietly. The extreme shift in her mood was so abrupt that it only served to remind Toby that her sanity had been hanging by a thread for the past several months. Radley did nothing to tame her – in fact, it only drove her further past the brink.

"C'mon, Noel," Mona sighed, summoning him toward the door. She directed her next statement at Toby. "We'll try this again later, when you've come to your senses."

Noel looked over his shoulder to deliver one last wicked smirk at Toby as they disappeared. As soon as the door had shut behind them, Spencer let out an anguished sob that she had clearly been holding in. His heart bled for her; she always tried to stay so strong.

It was stupid of them to leave him alone. But that was Mona's greatest flaw – the sense of superiority and invincibility. She was so overly confident in her ability to control everything in her sights, that she often overlooked the tiniest details.

Like a weak pipe.

"I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" Toby whispered to Spencer, fumbling with the plumbing behind him. "I promise."

She wept quietly, shaking her head in defeat. She had given up. So much more easily than she ordinarily would. It wasn't even something that she had to say aloud – he knew her well enough to understand precisely what her body language implied.

"Don't. Don't you dare think like that," Toby murmured desperately, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. He angled himself so as to grip the metal behind him. "Please, baby…you have to trust me."

She would not even meet his gaze now. Her eyes were lowered to her lap, her body trembling with silent sobs. He had never seen anything so heart wrenching in his life; it only made him struggle harder.

"I almost have it. Stay with me, Spencer, all right?"

He could feel the rivets of the connecting piece now. He grasped on tightly, yanking with all of the power he had within him, which at the moment was not much – he had been considerably weakened by being bludgeoned in the face earlier – but no amount of dizziness or exhaustion was going to keep him from getting her to safety.

At long last, it began to give way. He shimmied the chains of his cuffs to the breaking point between the pieces, pulling them taut at the place he hoped would give him the correct leverage. And then he snapped them against the metal – hard.

The pipe snapped in two, like a twig that had been trampled underfoot. Spencer gasped shakily in surprise, struggling against the ties that held her to the rocking chair once more.

_His _rocking chair. Mona was such a sick, twisted bitch.

His heart was beating at a million miles a minute as he stretched his arms at their full length to bring them around to the front of his body, still encased in the handcuffs. He hobbled in her direction, reaching out to pull the gag from her mouth.

She rolled her jaw in discomfort as her mouth was freed, sniffling frightfully. "Toby, I'm so sorry…" she began immediately. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

"Stop it," he commanded more harshly than intended as he began fumbling with the knots in the rope. "You are the last person in the world the should be apologizing right now."

She said nothing in reply, but only nodded resolutely. She understood that it was useless to argue with him right now, and she clearly lacked the energy to do so anyway.

She allowed him to work in silence for the next several minutes as he pulled, chewed, and clawed at her bindings. When at long last she was free, she threw her arms around him, panting tiredly into his chest as she fought to calm her breathing.

He could not do much to reciprocate with his hands still bound. Instead, he planted a chaste kiss atop her head before angling his face back to study her carefully.

"Listen to me," he began, reaching his conjoined hands to brush a strand of hair from her tear-stained cheeks. "We have to leave. It isn't safe here."

"I know, I know," she agreed hastily. "They could come back any second."

"No," he stated darkly. "We have to _leave_."

Her breath hitched in her throat, but after a beat she nodded. She understood that he meant this in a much broader sense.

"We'll go away. Far away. And we can't look back ever again. Do you understand?"

She nodded more fervently this time, silent tears cascading down her face.

"Hey," he said, softening as he brushed away a stray tear from the tip of her nose. "I'm never going to let anything happen to you. Ever again. I swear it."

She sniffled quietly, offering a sad smile in return. "I know."

And then he asked the question that had been burning deep within him for weeks. The prospective answer terrified him, but he had to know. "Do you trust me?" he whispered.

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip and scanning his eyes with her own. He knew that she was debating this – was considering all of the things she had found out as of late, and how they contradicted everything he had told her in the past. He had been her rock for so long, only to have him pull the rug out from under her ass. He knew it was his fault. And he planned to take full responsibility for it, if she gave him a chance to.

And then, she nodded, ever-so-lightly. "Yes," she whispered.

He released a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, pressing his lips firmly to hers for a moment. He did not linger there. Time was of the essence.

"I won't let them hurt you," he said quietly. "I know I haven't kept good on my promise, but I swear to God, Spencer, no matter what happens – I'll always be your safe place to land."

**END**


	2. One Last Time

**PROMPT:** _Spencer and Toby after the A fiasco, Spencer has scars from a final battle with A team, and Toby remorseful and hating himself for what he let happen to her. _

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**One Last Time**

The guilt had been gnawing mercilessly at him the entire night. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried to sleep – oh, he had most certainly tried. There was no doubt about that – he had completed an extensive workout (which usually exhausted him), had sipped some warm milk, and had tried to turn the stereo on low to lull him to slumber. Hell, he had even gulped gratuitously on some Nyquil, but nothing seemed to be working.

He knew what had transpired only a couple nights ago. Mona had texted him in a fury only hours before it happened, demanding to know where he was and why he wasn't by her side. He had started ignoring her some time ago, after Spencer had discovered his secret. He had finished playing his part, and he was done. But that didn't mean that everything was over. Far from it, in fact.

The very same night of the text messages, he had turned on the television to find that Mona had been arrested after a gruesome showdown with the girls. Staring in awe at the screen before him, he felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he watched the news story unfold.

He wasn't sure how she did it, but he had received one last text from her while watching the broadcast: '_I'm sending them for you next_.'

He knew he didn't have much time. He could only hide for so long before the police would track him down, too. It didn't matter that he had reduced his involvement in the whole mess – they'd be looking for names of Mona's allies, and lots of them. And she was selfish enough to deal them out in order to gain a lighter sentence.

The prospect terrified him and put him on high alert. He had already spent time in juvenile reform school; he had surpassed the possibility of just receiving a slap on the wrist. He was 18 years old now – he'd be going to prison.

With a heavy heart, he had accepted his fate. But there was somewhere he needed to be first. One last thing he needed to do. And because slumber was evading him, it was the perfect time to take care of it.

There were no cars in the driveway besides hers. Not that this was out of the ordinary. Her parents were notorious for leaving her alone in her darkest hour. He'd be surprised if they'd even returned home long enough to ensure that she was okay. It was likely that they were off somewhere in the Bahamas, or on a cruise – miles away from the daughter that craved their reassurance.

The back door was unlocked. He thought it unwise to sneak in after all that had happened, but he knew that she would never allow him entrance if he knocked. So instead he crept in quietly, hoping with all of his heart that he would not frighten her too much.

She was asleep on the couch, one arm dangled over the side with her cell clutched desperately in hand. The fire was burning in the hearth, crackling lightly as the flames lapped hungrily at the logs within.

He approached her quietly, not wanting to disturb her. As the light danced across her figure, he felt his breath catch.

She was wearing a tank top, revealing a great deal of vulnerable skin. And he could immediately see why. There was a large piece of bandaged gauze that stretched from one shoulder to the apex of her bosom, and even in the dark he could see the spider web tracks of the wound peeking from beneath it.

He knelt down beside the couch, carefully brushing a piece of stray hair from her face. There was a burgeoning bruise donning the majority of her left cheekbone, discoloring her features to a nasty black and blue.

"Oh, God," he murmured to himself, choking back the urge to cry. He found himself suddenly grateful that Mona was being put away – if he ever had to see her again, he'd be getting a life sentence, himself.

The guilt was welling up somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, rising into his throat like bile. He desperately blinked back tears as he took her free hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each knuckle – one at a time – and savored the taste of her skin.

He had never deserved her. Not the day that she first came to his door to tutor him in French – and certainly not now. He had done horrific, unspeakable things. Things he would never be able to take back. And when she needed him the most, he wasn't there. If only he had agreed to help Mona one last time…he could have been there to stop it. He could have prevented Mona from breaking this beautiful girl to the point of permanent scarring. Past the point of no return.

But as usual, he had been a coward. Had skipped town and lurked in the shadows when the going got tough. He thought that if he washed his hands of the entire thing, he would no longer be to blame.

But he was. He was to blame more than anybody else. Because when it came down to it, he had only looked out for himself. If only he had done something months ago. If only he had reported Mona at the very beginning, when her sanity truly began to suffer. He could have changed everything.

He could have still had Spencer.

And then, she began to stir. Toby's heart rate increased twofold as her eyes began to open, and he knew there would be no way out now.

She gazed at him sleepily, an expression of perplexity grazing her features. He saw now that she could hardly open that left eye with her cheek as swollen as it was, and he felt an instantaneous lashing against his skin, as though he'd been violently whipped. There was sleepiness in her eyes as she studied him, as if unsure whether she was still dreaming. He was certain she was probably on a number of pain killers, and felt woozy even when she was awake.

"Toby?" she slurred.

"It's me," he confirmed. He pressed his lips to the hand he held at his face once more, suddenly aware of the tears trickling down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Spencer. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there."

She was blinking rapidly now, trying to clear the confusion. "But you're one of them. You wouldn't be protecting me."

He felt as though he'd been slapped. The statement stung something fierce, but he knew he deserved it.

"I would never do anything to hurt you," he whispered softly, leaning his cheek into her hand. "I know how it looks…but you have to believe me. If I had been there…"

He trailed off, unsure if he had the strength to finish the sentence.

She seemed eerily calm through all of this. Perhaps it was the fact that she had just endured the most horrific night of her life only 48 hours ago. Maybe she was so numb to everything now that fear and anger were emotions she did not have the energy to feel. Or maybe she was so drugged up that she thought she was dreaming. Maybe all of the above. But as long as he had her attention, he was going to say what he had to say.

"I love you. I never lied about that," he promised, his voice breaking in slight. "I know I did some terrible things. But if there's ever one thing you want to believe about me – one thing not to let go of – it's _that_."

She whimpered quietly, likely from the pain, as she adjusted herself on the couch. Her eyes probed his for a moment – there was still a fogginess in their depths – as she slowly began to speak once more.

"You broke my heart," she murmured. "I loved you."

He sniffled loudly, impatiently wiping away the tears that were now freely cascading down his face. "I know that. I know that, Spencer…And I'll never forgive myself for it. For _any_ of it."

She fell silent once more, her eyes beginning to drift shut again. He gulped past the lump in his throat, wishing she would look at him one last time. It was more than he deserved, but he needed her to see him – _really_ see him – before he was gone forever.

As if on cue, the door burst open wildly against the wall. He was on his feet in an instant, his adrenaline crying out in panic as he realized what was happening.

"She told us we'd probably find you here," the cop stated brashly as he and two others drew their weapons. Mona. He knew that was the 'she' that he was referring to.

He put his hands up in a surrender formation, indicating that he would cooperate. That he would go quietly.

Spencer's eyes were wide open once more, but she still seemed borderline catatonic. She was fighting to pull herself into a sitting position. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry, Miss Hastings," the officer declared as he pulled Toby's hands behind his back to cuff. "He won't be bothering you anymore."

God, she was so out of it…she looked as though she were still half asleep, but was trying desperately to wake up. There was intense confusion etched in her marred features: she didn't understand what was happening.

"Toby?" she said meekly, surveying him with her eyes.

He returned his gaze to hers, and realized that the way in which she spoke his name was one last plea. One final request for him to explain what was going on. To help her.

He didn't reply. He wasn't sure he would have been physically able to, even if he had wanted. The lump in his throat was so grossly overgrown now that his voice box had locked up entirely. If he tried to speak, he would completely break down.

They guided him none-too-gently through the doors. He chanced one last glance over his shoulder – one last look at her chocolate colored doe eyes. It was more than likely that she'd fall back to sleep within moments, awakening the next morning to a very blurry recollection of what had happened. She would probably regard it as a dream, and think nothing more. She wouldn't remember that he was actually there. That he had actually come to apologize for all the trouble he had caused her – that he had confessed how much he loved her, even despite everything he'd done. No. Instead, her last memory of him would be that fateful night in her kitchen – of him turning around to face her in that black hoodie – of slapping him across the face in betrayed fury.

She wouldn't remember him as the man who loved her. She'd remember him as the one who broke her heart.

He wasn't sure which was worse. But in the end, he realized he was somewhat grateful for her catatonic state. She didn't need to remember this moment. He had confused her and broken her down enough as it was. Remembering him as a villain would be a much cleaner break for her. She would get closure – and she would move on. She could relax again someday, with all of this behind her. With their relationship nothing more than a distant memory – a long-healed bruise that was only minutely tender to the touch. Nothing more – nothing less.

She would continue on with her life, doing what she always set out to do. She would find peace. She would live a long, healthy life and grow old, feeling as though she had lived every day to its fullest after he was gone.

She would be _happy_. And that's all he had ever wanted for her.


	3. The One To Blame

**PROMPT:** _toby confronts spencer at the brew and finds out she's in a relationship with andrew. they start talking about it and he says he's happy for her. but then andrew walks in and he gets jealous of them._

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**The One To Blame**

Six months is a long time when you're alone. The time passes by at a snail's pace, leaving you stranded in the dust while everyone else moves on.

It had been six months since he had seen her or spoken to her. Six months since he had turned in his black hoodie for a construction uniform out of town. Six months since he had felt anything other than complete and total numbness.

Mona had left him alone, for the most part. He figured she was rather pleased with herself for ruining his life. She may have called him an 'ally,' but in reality he was merely another pawn in her sick game.

The last place he wanted to be right now was Rosewood. He couldn't bear the thought of returning to the town that ate him alive – the town that was full of monsters. But his dad had begged and pleaded for him to help them pack up their house in preparation to put it on the market. And for all of the dark, terrible things he had done, he felt that he owed it to himself to do something right for a change.

He hadn't planned to run into her when he took a coffee break at the Brew. Had hoped he wouldn't, anyway. It was coming time for senior finals, and he had expected she'd be locked away in a library somewhere, her nose buried in her text books.

But this was his luck, after all. And it had a bad habit of punishing him to an unmerciful end.

He was standing at the counter waiting for his order when she walked in. She was more beautiful than he had ever seen her – but she was also so much further away from him than he could remember her ever being. She was standing five feet from him, but they may as well have been light years apart.

His eyes had met hers in a sick twist of fate, and she stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to do. She was clearly considering turning around and leaving in that moment, enduring some internal struggle about dignity and bravery. And then Spencer, being the strong soul that she was, surged forward to the counter at last, if for no reason other than to prove to him that he couldn't break her again.

"Two caramel macchiatos, please," she requested quietly. The raspy sensuality of her voice still had the power to make him weak in the knees.

They stood next to each other idly for a moment, neither of them speaking. He could smell her vanilla perfume on the breeze as the front door opened once more, sending it wafting maliciously in his direction.

"Hey," he settled for at last, neglecting to look her in the eye.

She paused. "Hey."

There was a moment of silence that was all but deafening.

"How have you been?" he asked at last. It seemed like such a superficial thing to say, but he was genuinely interested in the answer.

She nodded shortly, glancing briefly at his eyes. They flickered away in an instant. "I've been good."

She really wasn't giving him much to work with. Not that he blamed her, of course – had he been in her position, he would have been bludgeoning himself over the head with that gigantic shoulder bag, wanting nothing more than to draw blood from the person who had ruined his life.

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

She nodded noncommittally. "Mmmhmm."

Her phone chirped. He noticed that she still flinched at the sound, as if awaiting yet another horrifying message from Mona. But upon reading its contents, her lips formed into a tiny smile.

It was the shy sort of smile she used to give to him. He knew what it meant instantly.

"Boyfriend?"

She regarded him for a moment, as if assessing the pros and cons of being honest. Then, at long last, she nodded. "Andrew."

The statement may as well have been equivalent to him pouring acid in his ears. But he forced a smile for her nonetheless.

"How long?"

She was nervously biting on her thumbnail, as she so often did. It was once endearing to him. Now it only served as a cruel reminder of how uncomfortable she was be near him.

"Two months."

"Good. Good for you," he murmured. And he meant it. As much as he could, anyway. He wanted her to be happy.

His order came up. He hastily grabbed it and made his way to the corner booth. There was a fleeting feeling of guilt for not saying a proper goodbye; but in the end, he knew it would have only been that much harder.

But truthfully, it wouldn't have been that bad. Not compared to what happened next.

A blond man with a well-to-do comb-over and glasses had come through the door, making his way to join her at the counter. She grinned and tugged affectionately at the collar of his polo as he snaked his arms around her waist and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

He needed to stop staring, but he couldn't help it. It was like watching a car crash occur in slow motion. You know it's best to look away, but you've just got to know what happens next.

The nerdy pretentious piece of shit, Andrew, was leading her to a table near the window. They were laughing about something or another as they unearthed their textbooks, talking animatedly. Her eyes were more alight with life than he had seen in so long. And he immediately hated Andrew for it.

It just figured – just fucking_ figured_ – that they were study buddies. The kid clearly had no social life outside of school and chess club, and it was probably the first thing they bonded over. He pictured him as being the sort of guy he used to pick on during gym class dodge ball, sending a well-aimed ball straight between the eyes.

But the worst part was, he wasn't a loser at all – he had Spencer. That immediately put him leaps and bounds above Toby, and he instantly felt ashamed of his own stupidity for everything he'd done. He'd pushed her away, all by himself.

Regardless – he loathed the sight of this shit head.

Andrew was reaching across the table now, brushing a strand of hair out of Spencer's eyes. She was grinning anxiously as he did so, clearly still in the nervous honeymoon stage of the relationship.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it – but he was on his feet and heading over there before he knew what was happening.

She hadn't seen him coming. Only when he came to stand right next to their table did she look up in alarm, the epitome of fear etched across her delicate features.

He took a seat beside Andrew, as though it were the most normal gesture in the world. "Hey," he greeted cheerfully, holding his hand out to shake. "I'm Toby. Nice to meet you."

Andrew looked perplexed, turning to Spencer for answers. She had lowered her gaze, one hand planted sheepishly on her forehead, as if she was too afraid to look.

"Andrew," the boy replied uncertainly, accepting his hand.

Pussy-ass handshake. Just as he thought.

"So, what are you guys up to?" Toby inquired casually, lounging back in his chair. His eyes were carefully glued to Spencer's figure, awaiting a reaction. She was giving him next to nothing so far.

"Uh, just studying for AP Chem," Andrew replied.

Ha. AP Chem. Science geek.

"Sounds like a party," Toby declared sarcastically. He had no idea what he was doing. The words were leaving his mouth before he could even comprehend what he was saying.

"I'm sorry – do we know you?" Andrew asked at last.

Spencer raised her eyes for this one, looking pleadingly in Toby's direction.

Ah. So she hadn't told Andrew about him at all. Not the length of time that they dated – not the unceremonious way in which he had single-handedly ruined her life – none of it.

Part of him was insulted. The other part was flattered. She clearly thought that talking about him was too painful. Or maybe too threatening, in some way, to divulge to her new boy toy. Perhaps he was the jealous type.

The thought was clearly ironic. But he ignored that instinct.

She was still staring at him purposefully, begging him not to reply. He squared his jaw, as if accepting her silent challenge.

"I'm Spencer's ex-boyfriend. We dated for a year."

Andrew's mouth fell slightly agape, and he turned to Spencer once more in desperate need of an explanation. She did not meet his eyes – she was far too busy staring Toby down, a look of impatient disgust on her face. He hated that expression. Hated it more than anything in the entire world. But if she already thought of him as a world class asshole, then he might as well play the part.

"Toby, you need to go," Spencer growled. "Now."

"Oh, what's the rush?" Toby said lightly, thumbing through Andrew's book. He scanned the page he landed on, studying the header. "I'd love to learn all about…oxidation."

"Spencer, what is going on?" Andrew demanded at last. "Who is he?"

"He's _nobody_," Spencer declared pointedly, her gaze meeting his. The coldness there terrified him. "He was dead to me a long time ago."

He could feel his face fall immediately when she said it. Her eyes were burning daggers into him now in a way that he had never seen – not even the night she had made that fateful discovery six months ago. The ferocity in her expression confirmed that she meant what she said.

He felt as though someone had reached into his chest cavity and squeezed his heart so roughly that it had begun to bleed. He had endured a lot of pain in his life – had sliced his head open on a metal shelving unit at the age of 11…had fallen off a ten-foot scaffold and broken his arm…had been slapped and punched and clawed at by Jenna during her tirades.

But none of that even came close to crushing him the way that this did.

"Spencer!" Andrew began with startled sternness, clearly disapproving of what she had said.

If only he knew.

"No. She's right," Toby said at last, fighting to keep his tone neutral. He understood precisely what she meant – and likely would have felt the same if he were her. He had lost the privilege of being involved in her life, and _should_ be regarded as nothing more than scum on her shoe. He squared his jaw and looked straight at her.

"I _do_ deserve to be dead right now."

Something brief flickered across her face. Pity, perhaps. Maybe something less insulting. But she did not lose her ground.

Andrew's reaction was the only thing light-hearted about the situation. He looked utterly horrified at what was transpiring, which would have made Toby laugh under any other circumstances.

He abruptly stood and pushed in his chair, bee-lining for the door. There was a burning in the back of his eyes, and he was fighting tooth and nail to ignore its presence.

He was almost half a block down the street when he heard her voice.

"Toby, wait!"

He paused, but did not turn around. He didn't want to look at her – it had been far too agonizing already. Looking at her would have only twisted the knife all-the-more.

"Toby…" she began pleadingly, but said nothing else.

He knew what she was thinking. He had known her long enough. She was concerned for his sanity. Worried he was going to go home and off himself in some elaborate, grand gesture. Feared that she'd be reading his obituary by Monday.

But she said nothing. His name just continued to hang in midair, dangling by some precarious thread. The silence was deafening. He knew he should do her the courtesy of turning to face her. Acknowledge that she was worried. But he had already done enough. Even if he had wanted to, his body would not allow it. His feet were planted firmly to the ground, as though bolted there. His heart knew it could only take so much, and was not allowing him to make any more stupid decisions.

Her plea was still hanging there, waiting for him to reply. He did not take hold of it – instead, he did his damnedest to lift his lead-filled feet, and walk away from her for the last time.

She did not follow him again. Surely she had crawled back to Andrew, wiping the slate clean once more and going back to the books. She would forget him easily enough. And he wished that he didn't care – but he did. He cared more than he was willing to admit.

Mona had been wrong. So completely, horrifically wrong. It wasn't the girls that they were punishing: it was themselves. Maybe she was immune to the type of pain that he was feeling – but she must have known that being a part of this would rip him apart from the inside out. Perhaps he was her _real_ target all along. Maybe he had done something to her, sometime, somewhere, that made her so unspeakably angry that she wanted to completely obliterate his existence.

Well. She had succeeded. He was dead to the world. Dead to Spencer. Dead to himself.

And after seeing Spencer with someone else – seeing with his own two eyes that she had clearly moved on – he wasn't sure he was ever going to feel alive again.


	4. Where Do We Go From Here

**PROMPT:** After_ Spencer finds out his secret, a conflicted, heartbroken Toby goes back to his loft, kicks Mona out, and starts drinking. When Spencer shows up in __tears, he lets her in._

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**Where Do We Go From Here**

Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling. Mona had been demanding that he keep his emotions in check for months – but it was never as easy as it sounded. Being with Spencer was always meant to just be another game. In the end, he felt like _he_ was the one who got played.

The look on Spencer's face had all but broken him entirely. Part of him had expected to feel rather ambivalent when the time came, but that was a sore underestimation. He had never hated anyone as much in his life as he hated himself right now.

He made his way back to his loft, feeling as though his heart was going to beat itself right out of his chest. As if the panic surging through his system wasn't enough, he found Mona sitting calmly at his kitchen table, sipping on wine as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded gruffly.

"I take it that it went well," Mona surmised casually, tipping her glass to him. "Cheers."

It struck him as strange that Mona was sitting beside a three-course meal at the table, one that she surely wouldn't have prepared herself. He wandered further into his apartment, an unfamiliar platform on the counter catching his eye. It had not been there this morning.

_Goofball. Glyceraldehyde. I love you. _

But it was the inscription on the side that really made his heart bleed.

'_For T, my safe place to land. Always your girl, S_.'

His mouth went dry, and he felt a foreign burning sensation in the back of his eyes.

"Oh, right. This stuff was meant for your anniversary," Mona announced lightly as an afterthought, kicking her feet up onto the table. "Tragic turn of events, if I do say so myself."

He turned to face her, loathing the expression that donned her features. Clearly she found nothing about this to be tragic in the slightest, based on the coy smirk that teased her mouth. She was _enjoying _this. Far more than any human being should ever enjoy watching another crumble to pieces.

"Get out," he stated numbly, unzipping the black hooded sweatshirt and tearing it from his body as if it were suddenly poisoning him. And in a way, it had been. For months. Poisoning and corrupting his soul, a little more each and every day.

"I'm sorry," Mona began darkly, her eyes flashing in the dangerous glow of candlelight. "What did you say to me?"

"I said," he began confidently, staring her down with what he hoped was the most believable conviction he could muster. "_Get. Out."_

They locked eyes for a moment in a silent power struggle. It was not in Mona's nature to follow commands from anybody other than the red coat. But at long last, she rose to her feet, looking rather pleased with herself.

"You spend far too much time worrying about what others will think of you, Toby," she quipped softly, tilting her head at him as if watching a caged animal in the zoo. "It will be your downfall in the end."

He took her by the arm and led her roughly to the front door, holding it open pointedly. "At least I have a conscience," he declared.

Her eyes met his, and he saw nothing by complete and utter apathy in her expression. She was past the point of caring, and clearly had no idea what was so great about feeling bad for the things she'd done. She was a dangerous individual – a human being completely devoid of any and all emotion. It was what psychologists often referred to as 'sociopaths.' Radley should have never released her in the first place.

"I'll be calling you first thing in the morning," Mona stated coolly as she stepped onto the staircase. "If you're not ready to continue on by then, you'll have someone other than me to answer to."

Red coat. Toby gulped involuntarily, knowing that_ she_ would be far less forgiving than Mona.

She smiled devilishly, as though proud that she had stirred something within him. "Ta-ta," she said as she began prancing down the stairs.

He slammed the door irritably, leaning against the slick surface and sliding all the way down. He had never known this sort of regret before, and it was admittedly a very confusing feeling.

Part of him wished he could do what Mona did. Turn off every emotion in his brain and just do what needed to be done. It would certainly be easier to live in a world where he didn't feel crushed by his own guilt. Would be lovely to live in blissful ignorance.

But the other part knew that nothing about that was realistic. What an empty life to live, without being able to feel the intensity of anything – whether it be guilt and pain, or love and happiness. To not care about anything that happened…to end up alone and not even realize how much it sucked. Not being able to really connect with anybody your entire life.

It would be a waste. But it would save him from feeling the self-loathing that he was feeling right now.

He made his way back to the table, where Mona had left half her glass of wine. He had never been much of a fan of red – for more reasons than one – but he tipped it back nonetheless. It tasted bitter all the way down his throat, and he pulled a face in response.

Nevertheless, he poured another.

He wasn't sure how long he sat at that table, watching the candlelight dance in the darkness of his apartment. There was a distinct tingling feeling in his fingers and toes, and he realized he had finished off the entire bottle. It wasn't the cheap stuff, either – no, of course not. It was not in the nature of the Hastings family to spend anything less than 30 dollars on any kind of alcohol, _especially_ wine – it was, as Spencer always said, important to be sure you were buying a quality make and year.

So naturally, it was hitting him harder than he had anticipated. He emptied the last few drops of the glass bottle into his flute, and set it aside dismissively. It was not the most inebriated he had ever been – no, far from it. But it sufficed to assist in the numbing process for now.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and he froze. He jumped to his feet, and was at the door in an instant. He didn't even need to glance through the peephole. He instinctively knew that it was her already.

He could hear her voice breaking on the other side as she spoke, confused and desperate for an explanation. "I know you're in there," she announced, putting every last ounce of bravado that she had into this declaration. He let his forehead fall against the wood, trying to gulp back the lump in his throat.

She was fumbling with her keys now, and he leapt backwards in reply.

The door swung open, and there she stood. She had clearly been crying, her eyes red and swollen from the amount of moisture had had been collecting there. And somehow, seeing her like this stung more than the slap on the face she had delivered him earlier in the evening.

Neither of them moved or spoke for several moments, instead staring one another down in an exhausted face-off. He knew that neither of them had the energy to have the argument that was about to ensue, but that either way, it was going to happen.

And then, he conceded the staring contest to her, averting his gaze and stepping aside to make his way back to the table. He collapsed back into his previous chair, feeling her gaze burning into the back of his head as she slammed the door behind her.

"Tell me what I saw tonight wasn't real," she commanded quietly, her voice squeaking ever-so-lightly in the process. "Tell me there's more to the story. That there's something I don't know."

He toyed with the stem of his wine glass, studying the flickering flames burning before him once more. He still could not dislodge the lump that was constricting his voice box. He feared that if he spoke, he would break down.

She was approaching him now, studying the dinner that Mona had so callously taken upon herself to dig into. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth twisted into a grimace as realization dawned upon her, and she had to catch herself on the table to keep from collapsing into a piteous heap on the floor.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, but said nothing. The sound of her sobs breaking the air between them made his heart ache.

She gathered her composure after a moment, and stomped toward the Scrabble board. She looked at it for a moment, something changing in her expression. In one swift motion, she swept her arm against it, sending it careening noisily to the floor. He flinched in reply.

"Everything you ever told me – it was all a lie," she accused wildly, her voice rising in intensity. "You pretended to love me. You pretended to care about what happened to me. But this was your plan all along, wasn't it?"

It wasn't true. It was so far from the truth, in fact, that it actually pained him to consider. But what good would it do to deny it now?

"Stop pretending I'm not here!" she hollered, leaning over the table confrontationally. "Look at me, Toby. Look at me and tell me to my face."

It was second-nature, and he didn't really have time to consider it. His gaze was raised to hers without realizing what he was doing, and he balked under the ferocity he saw in her eyes.

"What did I do to deserve this?" she demanded quietly, her voice breaking once more. He could see now that the arms she used to hold herself up over the table were trembling precariously, and, instinctively, he reached out to touch her hand. She pulled away instantly, finding her strength once more.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me the truth and I'll go – _forever_." Her voice faltered as she said the word that caused both of them the same inordinate amount of pain, but she continued to stare him down expectantly nonetheless.

He inhaled shakily, knowing that he was potentially about to open a floodgate.

"I spoke with Mona after Homecoming," he admittedly quietly, a hoarseness lacing his voice that he did not recognize. "She told me her plan, and after what happened with Emily, I said yes."

Spencer's bottom lip trembled, but she continued to stand there determinedly, waiting to hear the answers that she so desperately craved. He surged on.

"I was supposed to help from a distance. We never expected that you'd be the one to walk up my porch that day last year. Mona was thrilled. She thought it was the perfect opportunity for me to get on the inside."

She squeezed her mouth tightly, as if trying to stay oncoming tears.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was never the plan for you to fall in love with me."

"And you?" she whimpered involuntarily. The way in which she tried to stay strong was breaking his heart.

He raised his gaze to meet her eyes, knowing that what he said next would be hit or miss. "It was the never the plan for me to fall in love with you, either."

There was a beat in which she let this sink in.

"And did you?" she murmured.

He hesitated, but after a moment nodded quietly.

She sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes as if to erase any emotional reaction to his statement.

"So what does that mean?" she asked desperately. "How can you hate me and love me at the same time?"

He looked down at the white linen tablecloth before him, feeling slightly dizzy as it went in and out of focus.

"I don't know," he murmured.

She inhaled sharply, as if slapped.

"You don't _know_?" she demanded. "What the hell am I supposed to think about that, Toby? What am I supposed to do now? Am I supposed to go on pretending that everything is fine? Like tonight never happened?"

He chewed on his lower lip sheepishly, wishing he had the profound answer that she was looking for. Nothing came to him.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked at last, her voice raspy.

He shook his head slowly, indicating that he had no idea. This reaction clearly wasn't good enough for her, as she rose to her feet and backed away from the table, shaking her head so wildly in disbelief that her dark curls were dancing around her face.

"I can't do this right now," she declared at last, grabbing her things and sweeping through the door. The sound of it slamming may as well have been a gunshot into his heart, and he jumped involuntarily.

When he was sure she was gone, the tears came without warning. It started with a single bead of moisture running down his face, and it did not let up. The hot presence of the saline on his face was unwelcome, and he brushed them away impatiently. He hated himself for not having more to say – not having a clearer explanation to provide her.

And most of all he, hated himself for doing this to her in the first place. But he was well aware that after the events of tonight, it would never be the same. He could turn in his hoodie tomorrow and skip town with her, and she still wouldn't trust him. Not for a long time, anyway.

Yes. It was best to make a clean break for now. It was better for her – better for him – better for everyone. He knew how she was – she would feel guilty if she gave him another chance, wondering all-the-while if she was putting her friends in more danger by sleeping with the enemy. He couldn't blame her. He wouldn't have trusted him, either.

He sat there for most of the night, fantasizing about what things would be like if everything were different. Wishing he could bring himself to make a decision – wishing he could rewind the past year of his life and start fresh. She would have still showed up on his porch – they would have still found an inexplicable connection between them, buried deep beneath the hate and resentment. He could have had her all to himself without anyone to answer to – like a normal boyfriend in a normal relationship.

But nothing about him had ever been _normal_. And after the choices he had made – the mistakes he had so foolishly committed – nothing ever would be again.


	5. Go Anywhere With You

_**A/N: **Two prompts rolled into one. But the second is a surprise._

* * *

**PROMPT:**_ Spencer takes Toby shopping._

* * *

**Go Anywhere With You**

Toby Cavanaugh had always been something of an idealist. Through every trial and tribulation he had endured, he always managed to find the sliver of whatever silver lining existed amongst all the chaos. It was a quality that even his counselors in reform school seemed to notice and regularly praise.

There were very few things in life he allowed himself to take for granted. There were even fewer things he actually truly hated.

But no matter how many counselors congratulated him on having a positive attitude, or how many pep talks he gave himself, one of those rarities of hated things had always been – and would always be – shopping.

He remembered his mother dragging him out to various department stores at a young age, filling her arms with countless hangers of khaki pants and cotton button-downs. She'd then shove him unceremoniously into a fitting room and wait for him to try on, and _model_, each and every piece of clothing she had chosen for him.

Even worse was the time his dad had dragged him to Art Van and Sears to assist him in picking out new end tables and accessories that were more to his future step-mother's liking than the taste his own mother had left behind. He had spent hours with Jack Cavanaugh forcing smiles and nodding mindlessly at his selections, required to pretend that the new engagement was just as exciting for him as it was for the groom-to-be.

He had always tried to avoid situations such as these. In fact, he had even taken to ordering his clothes from catalogs when he was sixteen, simply to save himself another god-awful trip from Hell.

But when his wife looked eagerly at the barren spaces of the brand new home they had just won in a bidding auction, he knew what was coming. And never in a thousand years could he possibly say 'no' to those delicate toffee-colored eyes.

He had been successful thus far in remaining almost completely silent during the trip, for Spencer had a very clear idea of what she wanted. At least that took a great deal of the pressure off of him; all he really had to worry about was sliding his credit card through a machine and she took care of the rest.

But he knew the moment was coming. She knew him well enough that she would notice after a while.

"So it's between this one, and that one," she rambled quietly, pointing to the six-piece sectional sofa before them and the five-piece behind them, respectively. "I like the idea of more sitting room, but I like the color of the other one better."

"Mmm-hmm," he muttered noncommittally.

She turned to him, her exuberant expression turning to one of sensitive curiosity. "You've been awfully quiet today, babe. Something on your mind?"

_Yes. I hate being here with every ounce of my being, but I love you with just enough ounces __**more**__. _

He attempted to give her a smile, but he was sure it turned out to be more of a grimace.

"Not at all."

She seemed to still be rather skeptical, but did not push him. Instead she wandered around the back of the couch to run her hands along the upholstery, as if to determine its capacity for comfort.

And then, she asked it.

"Well, which one do _you_ like better?"

There it was: the expectation for him to actually participate in the decision-making process. He wanted nothing more than to make her happy, as she had done for him for the past six years. That included, and of course surpassed, spending an entire day picking out furniture. As much as he hated doing it, his love for her easily outweighed his discomfort.

But nonetheless, he would have been far more content to just let her make the decisions. He was simply here for support.

"It's up to you," he said gently.

She sighed, cocking her head at him. "But which one do _you_ see yourself coming home from work and wanting to crash on? Which one can you picture lounging back on to watch the game?" Some distant expression appeared on her face, as if she were peeking into a portal to the future, a smile teasing her lips. "The one that we try fruitlessly to keep the dog off of, but give in after a while? The one that our children will climb over constantly, and hide peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in its cushions, and find it to be a perfect canvas for finger painting?"

And just like that, his previously nonexistent interest in furniture shipping was suddenly piqued.

He could not suppress the tiny smile that played at his lips as he came up quietly behind her to wrap his arms around her waist, burying his nose in the back of her head. The scent of her vanilla coconut shampoo possessed a number of nostalgic reminders, but none as vivid as the first time they had made love. That particular memory was carved into his brain, much like the way they'd etched their names into the oak tree that overlooked the small city of Rosewood.

"I never thought about it like that," he whispered in her ear earnestly. "In that case, I think the dark brown one may have a longer life expectancy."

He could tell she was smiling as she brought her hands up to meet his around her stomach, leaning back against his chest.

"Good idea," she agreed softly.

He exhaled contentedly against the side of her face, and could see the involuntary gooseflesh that punctuated her neck as a result. After a moment he pulled back slowly, rubbing her upper arms as he backed up.

"I'll go put the delivery order in."

"Wait," she said quickly, grabbing onto his wrist just as he made to walk away. "There are a few other things I wanted to look at first."

He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit disappointed at hearing this. It was growing late and he was awfully tired. And though her explanation about what made the difference between a _nice_ couch and a _homey_ couch was the uplifting reassurance he'd needed to have any interest in what they were doing, he still wouldn't necessarily say he was excited to continue on.

But for her, he would do this for the rest of his life, if he had to.

"Sure," he said simply, taking hold of her hand. She laced her fingers through his and led the way.

He didn't pay much heed to where they were heading. Instead, he found himself idly watching the families that bustled by with shopping carts full of dinnerware and bedding, children nestled in the front carrier seats.

Of course he had considered the course their future would take in this regard. He'd even thought about it with such specificity that he could picture what their own baby would look like. Like its mother, he hoped. She clearly had all the most desirable genes out of the two of them. But he hadn't necessarily thought about the more minute aspects of parenthood, as she had. And after her little speech, he was beginning to wonder more and more how their new house would look with a toddler scampering from room to room. And he could not deny it: it was making him smile.

She seemed to be daydreaming about similar bundles of joy, for she paused as they reached the nursery section of the store. Stopping to run her fingertips along the mahogany railing of the crib in front of them, a small smile played at her lips.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured.

He came to stand beside her, snaking one arm around her hips to pull her against his side. There was an overarching extension constructed over the crib, designed specifically to hold a dangling mobile that would lull a baby to sleep.

"Yes, it is," he agreed quietly. "But I always sort of thought I'd make our baby's crib, myself."

She turned to him, her russet eyes dancing affectionately. "Really?"

"Yeah," he began, reaching out to spin the Winnie the Pooh characters that hovered over the bed. "It's easy enough. I could make this exact one, actually."

Her eyes darted downward to the floor, and he swore he saw a tiny blush rising in her cheeks.

"How long do you think it would take?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe a couple months, tops."

"Good," she murmured, nodding absent-mindedly. "Because you have seven."

His eyes flicked to hers immediately.

It didn't take long before the meaning sunk in. Suddenly the rest of the world around them ceased to exist, the inordinate chaos of their fellow shoppers put unceremoniously on 'mute.' He took her by the shoulders to bring her to face him properly, and he noticed for the first time that her eyes were swimming beneath pools of unannounced tears. Despite this, however, her mouth was spread into the widest, most beautiful grin he had ever seen.

"You – you're – " he sputtered, reaching down to caress her abdomen. She met his hands there with her own, nodding so emphatically that the collection of moisture that had gathered around her bottom eyelids suddenly came loose and dribbled down her face.

"We're having a baby," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

It didn't matter that there was anyone else around. He could care less what anyone thought of them as he lifted her into his arms and twirled her around enthusiastically, laughing with such unabashed joy that he was certain he must look certifiably insane. Once he put her back on her feet he pressed his lips eagerly to hers, tasting the saline that continued to cascade down her delicate cheekbones.

"I love you," he breathed, planting butterfly kisses all along her face. He pulled back to assess her stomach once more, rubbing the pads of his thumbs along the area of her womb. "And I love _you_."

She giggled softly, her fingers winding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. He could not describe the elation he felt, even if he had been asked. It was unprecedented and inexplicable, and very few things in his life had even come in at a close second. The only one that could possibly compete was his wedding day, and even that seemed dim now in comparison.

"We're having a baby!" he announced loudly over his shoulder, which only caused her to laugh harder. A few people smiled supportively in their direction, but for the most part the world continued on as it was. It didn't matter, though. They couldn't possibly understand what he was feeling in this exact moment.

And suddenly, he couldn't even recall how the day had started. How he had, at some point, been rather cranky to be on this trip. He'd never loved shopping more in his entire life than he did right now.

He pulled her in for another hug, feeling the stinging begin to appear in the corners of his own eyes as realization dawned upon him: not only was he hugging his wife, the one person who had ever made him feel worthwhile…but he was also hugging the one little boy or girl that would completely change his world.

He was going to be a father.

* * *

**PROMPT:**_ Can you write a spoby fic about spencer telling toby she's pregnant?_


	6. Defending Her Honor

**PROMPT:** _Toby getting jealous and Jason defensive over a guy hitting on/bugging Spencer_

* * *

**Defending Her Honor**

"Have I mentioned how much I hate parties?" Caleb muttered as he returned with three bottles of beer, handing two off to his comrades and collapsing onto the couch. "It's really just an excuse for the popular kids to show that on top of everything else, they're even better at _puking_ than the rest of us."

Toby chuckled, exchanging an amused look with Jason perched in the armchair. The oldest was grinning in spite of himself, sipping contentedly on his new Budweiser. "Are you already drunk enough that you're forgetting _who_ threw this party in the first place?"

It was Spring Break. And because Hanna's mother was still out of town on business, the boisterous blond had deemed it the perfect opportunity to celebrate right from the comfort of her own home. Unfortunately that also meant that half of Rosewood High was crammed into her house, so inebriated that most of them looked to be on the verge of forgetting their own names.

Caleb ignored the second part of the question, making a dramatic sweeping motion of incredulity with his free hand. "Not even close. This is only my second drink."

Jason gestured pointedly over Caleb's shoulder. "And how many has _she_ had, exactly?"

Both Toby and Caleb followed his train of view, where Hanna was making quite a show of herself. One hand was up in the air as she shimmied her hips to the beat, her voice straining to outmatch the volume of the music that was singing along to. She stumbled clumsily into Emily's frame, giggling profusely in drunken amusement.

Caleb winced, sighing dejectedly. "Oh, Jesus Christ…I'll be back."

He was on his feet in an instant to march to her side, carefully extracting her from Emily's hold to relieve the raven-haired girl of her duties. Hanna threw her arms around his neck in exaggerated cheerfulness, loudly announcing that she wanted to do something that was rather R-rated. Toby immediately turned back to Jason, pretending he hadn't heard it for the sole purpose of preventing his ears from bleeding.

"Where's Spencer?" Jason asked as he toyed with the label on his bottle, his voice clearly indicating that he didn't expect the answer to be a simple one.

Toby inhaled sharply before regarding the blond-haired man to his left. "Around here somewhere, I'm guessing."

There was a beat. Jason peered at him from over the rim of his beer, the wheels in his brain silently turning.

"I take it things are still…um…"

"Confusing?" Toby added helpfully. "Yeah, to say the least."

It had been almost four months since their romantic rendezvous in the motel on the outskirts of town. And ever since, things hadn't quite been the same. They had agreed to take things slow from that point forward and try to work their way back to what they used to be. But with Spencer's senior year fast concluding, college applications hanging in the balance, and a particular girl in a particularly red coat, they hadn't really had much time to get the ball rolling.

He hated every second of every day that he had to wait to be with her, but her happiness was of the utmost importance. And he knew that until she had put some of her proverbial ducks back in their rightful rows, he could not pressure her.

Jason grimaced sympathetically. "I'm sorry, man."

"Don't be," Toby argued, plastering what he hoped would pass as a genuine smile. "It's gonna take time. And I just want her to be happy."

"Yeah," Jason said distantly, his concentration stolen as a certain petite brunette with an affinity for older men skipped by to quickly whisper something in Emily's ear. The swimmer laughed unabashedly at whatever she had said, and they linked arms and disappeared into the crowd. "Just want her to be happy."

Toby eyed him surreptitiously as he took a sip of his beer, but did not bring attention to Jason's unrequited love. Instead they shared a moment of silence for the women they could not have.

"It'll be okay, though," Jason began, so quiet that Toby hardly heard him over the subwoofer. "I know how much you love her."

"Yeah, well, at least one Hastings does," said Toby gratefully, unable to suppress the hint of resentment in his tone.

It had certainly been interesting, having Jason back in town. Though the two had never really spoken much in the past, they had formed an immediate camaraderie when the elder returned to Rosewood to assist in bringing down 'A.' Despite his own safety being in jeopardy, Jason had reiterated time and time again that he would not allow someone to so maliciously prolong the mourning of Alison's memory.

Additionally, Toby had gotten the distinct impression that Jason did not want to lose another sister to the same crazed maniac that had ended Ali's life far too soon. The older man seemed to keep a constantly watchful eye on Spencer, as if to ensure that she was remaining out of harm's way.

And Toby was not one to complain about something such as that. They had a common goal in that regard, and it had been the basis for their initial bonding in the first place. It didn't matter that it had never been discussed aloud – they were both aware of the other's protective intentions.

"I _am_ a Hastings, technically, _aren't_ I?" Jason mused, a look of distaste crossing his features. "Still feels surreal."

"I don't blame you," Toby chuckled. "I can't imagine finding out my dad isn't actually my dad."

"Trust me," Jason began darkly, "there is worse family drama than a little paternity mix-up."

He didn't have to specify. Toby knew he was referring to the death of his sister. He was about to come up with some way to apologize when something rapidly changed in Jason's expression.

"Speaking of family drama…"

Toby turned to follow his gaze. Jason was already on his feet and making long strides to his point of contention.

Spencer was leaning on her elbows over the counter top, looking rather dizzy. Noel Kahn was using the opportunity to get a bit handsy, his fingers curled around her shoulders as if to give her a massage. She was impatiently trying to bat him away, but he didn't seem to be catching the hint.

Toby was following in Jason's footsteps in an instant.

"I said I'm _fine_, Noel," she grumbled irritably, angling her body away from him just enough to release herself.

"It's okay, Hastings," he said in his usual cocky drawl. "I can help."

"That won't be necessary," Jason growled, seizing Noel by the wrist to yank him around. His pale green-blue eyes were burning daggers into the younger's face, conveying a silent warning. "I'll take it from here."

Noel merely smirked in reply, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry, man. Thought she was single now."

He sent a pointed look in Toby's direction, as though to make it perfectly clear that he was referring to their current separation. Toby involuntarily curled his fists at his sides.

"She's my _sister_, asshole," Jason seethed.

Noel looked surprised – as surprised as he ever did, anyway. It translated on his face as being just as pretentious a reaction as anything else he produced. His eyebrows shot up his forehead slowly, his eyes darkening with morbid curiosity.

"Can't say it comes as a shock," he said icily. "My dad said your mom would put out for anyone."

Jason lurched forward suddenly, causing Noel to step backward out of reflex. The elder seemed to think better of it, however, as several partygoers fell quiet to watch. Jason exhaled shakily, his mouth squeezed tightly into a thin line of irritation.

"Cocky little prick, just like your brother," Jason spat.

Noel arched his face closer to Jason's in a silent taunt. "I learned from the best."

Jason stepped forward once more out of pure instinct, and Toby chose that moment to intervene. He put a hand on Noel's chest to back him safely away from his friend, squaring his jaw in a way that surely matched Jason's determined expression.

"C'mon, Noel, how about finding someone who doesn't think you're a useless piece of shit?" Toby asked brashly. "Jenna's probably around here somewhere."

Noel barked in derisive laughter. "Didn't you hear? Your sister traded hard wood for carpet, if you catch my drift. I'm not really her type anymore."

Oh, right. The lesbian rumors.

Toby narrowed his eyes, ignoring the jab. "Get lost."

"Oh, but Hastings was enjoying my company," Noel crooned, making a dramatic show of snaking an arm around her waist.

"Stop, Noel," she pleaded. She was standing upright now, at least, but still seemed to be having difficulty maintaining her balance.

"But baby, you love it," he laughed, pulling her roughly against his chest. She weakly pushed against him to keep his puckered lips at a fair distance.

Toby released a guttural sound from somewhere deep in his diaphragm, and it sounded akin to something he'd seen in a _Planet Earth _documentary.

"That's it."

He grabbed Noel brusquely by the shoulders to pull him loose, shoving him violently against the refrigerator.

Noel looked aghast at his audacity. Before Toby realized what was happening, the younger boy had barreled toward him with the ferocity of a charging rhinoceros, knocking the wind out of his lungs as he sent them both careening into the island counter.

"Toby!" Spencer cried, alarmed.

It was easy to regain the upper hand, however, as Noel was considerably more intoxicated. Toby had grabbed him by the shirt collar and swung him around, the two of them falling to the floor in a knot of limbs and rogue fists.

He was just about to deliver a well aimed right hook that would have assuredly broken Noel's nose when he felt two arms yank him up and away. He flailed in the hold of his captor, trying unsuccessfully to get back to what he had started.

Noel was being pulled away now, as well, Caleb having secured both of his arms behind his back.

"You're a dead man, Cavanaugh!" Noel hollered, blood trickling from his lip. "I swear to God, you better watch your back!"

"Get him the hell out of here, before I rip his throat out," Jason said through gritted teeth from somewhere behind Toby. He realized after a beat that he was the one holding him at bay.

Caleb didn't need to be told twice. He was already leading Noel toward the front door, shouting wildly about 'starting shit in his girlfriend's house' before Jason even had a chance to finish the command.

Toby relaxed considerably with Noel out of his sight, though he still felt his jaw twitching in outrage. Jason seemed to sense his newfound calm, for he released him and spun him around.

"He's not worth it," he growled, shaking Toby by the shoulders, his eyes blazing with intensity. "As much as I would have loved to see you kick his ass, we don't need to draw any more legal attention to you."

The gravity of his statement was settling in with such rapidity that Toby suddenly felt nauseous. Jason was aware of the incriminating rumors of Toby's past, as well as the part he had played in Mona's schemes to gain her trust.

He nodded resolutely, but said nothing.

"Toby, are you okay?" Spencer asked softly, taking his face in both of her hands. Her chocolate eyes were alight with sudden sobriety, worry glistening in their boundless depths.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, both sets of fingers lightly brushing the curvature of her waist. "Are you?"

She nodded emphatically, a small smile teasing her lips. "Yeah, of course. It's just Noel being Noel."

Jason cleared his throat purposefully, and Toby had almost forgotten he was there.

"I have to…uh…be…somewhere else."

He sent one last supportive look in Toby's direction before disappearing without another word.

"What on Earth got into you?" she asked, neglecting to hide the appreciation in her tone.

Toby shrugged sheepishly. "You asked him to leave you alone, and he wasn't listening. And it didn't help that he called you single."

She cocked her head at him, realization dawning in her features. He felt suddenly embarrassed, not to mention guilty, for bringing it to her attention. He wanted to respect her need for space. Wanted to make sure she was doing what made her happy. He had to ensure that she –

Her lips were pressed against his before he even realized what was happening. He eagerly responded to her embrace, using his hold on her hips to yank her closer to his frame. Her mouth tasted like rum, but Captain Morgan had never been so sweet. She dove her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he felt his heart flutter wildly in reply.

She pulled back after a beat, a sleepy, resigned sort of smile on her face.

"I'll never get used to it, you know," she said raspily.

He furrowed his brow in her direction, only vaguely aware of the stupid grin plastered across his mouth. "Get used to what?"

She smirked quietly, affectionately flattening the collar of his button-up shirt.

"Actually _liking_ the role of damsel in distress when you're my knight in shining armor."


	7. Speak Now Or Forever Hold Your Peace

**PROMPT:** _Emily and Toby join forces to stop Spencer's wedding with Wren_

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_**A/N:** Added some Jason stuff too because I love him so damn much. _

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**Speak Now Or Forever Hold Your Peace**

_Today is the big day: my bestie is getting married! You are going to make such a beautiful bride, Spencer!_

He released a guttural noise of disapproval as he happened upon Aria's Facebook status, shoving his phone unceremoniously in his pocket to put it out of mind. Browsing the website brought him nothing but pain and frustration, no matter how fanatically he wished for the contrary. He never used to care about what his former peers were posting; he could give two shits about Noel Kahn's constant partying and Kate Randall's photo play-by-play of the diet she was embarking on. He had never bothered with Facebook when it first became a trend, and he certainly didn't want to be any more involved in it now.

But somewhere in the span of the past year, he had gotten accustomed to the terrible habit of picking apart particular updates with a fine-toothed comb. The moment he had seen Spencer's relationship status change to 'engaged,' he had become what would most assuredly be considered a certified stalker. He kept a close eye on her page, as well as the pages of her friends. If asked, he would be required to shamefully admit that he could more or less commentate the entire wedding planning experience, right down to the day she bought her dress.

Yet he had never been able to bring himself to say a single word to her since it had happened. Not so much as a text or a friendly wall post. For all she knew, he hadn't the faintest idea what today meant to her.

But as the storm brewing in his heart could testify, he had been privy to more than he was willing to confess. He had spent the better part of the last several months praying that time would slow down and give him a chance to move on before the fateful day arrived. Some piece of him had been foolishly resistant to accepting it as a reality, consistently hoping that some unconquerable circumstance would foil her plans for holy matrimony. That perhaps she would come to her senses and call the whole thing off. That maybe Wren would come out of the closet or sustain an incurable bout of amnesia.

But fate had not been kind enough to oblige him. And now the time had come – and instead of being the one with the boutonniere on his lapel, he was the creepy asshole staking out the back door.

As if on cue, it swung open, revealing a panic-stricken blond-haired man in a staunchly ironed tuxedo.

"It's about time," Toby grumbled, stepping quickly past him and into the back hallway of the church.

"I'm sorry," Jason hissed. "My dad and Veronica are guarding the front door like harpies, and I had to make sure it cleared out back here so that you had a bit of cover."

"It's fine, there's still time," said Toby brashly. He instinctively ducked behind a wall outcropping as Aria came hurdling out of the dressing room, her lilac-colored gown flowing wildly behind her.

Jason stood rigid, his mouth pressed into a thin line of irritation. "For the record, I think this is a terrible idea."

Toby did not reply. Instead he straightened his suit coat and looked surreptitiously over each shoulder before heading for his destination once more.

"Have you talked to Emily?"

"Yeah," Jason said dejectedly. "She said she'd take care of the girls. Aria's probably heading to prevent some fake emergency right now."

"And Hanna?"

"Last I saw her, she was trying to find Spencer's bouquet. Which I hid in the broom closet upstairs."

"So it's just Emily and Spencer left?" Toby asked eagerly.

Jason paused for a beat before nodding. He paused at the door to the dressing room, studiously assessing Toby with his pale sea-green eyes.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said earnestly. "Because if I find out I ruined my sister's wedding day for nothing…"

"Hey – I know what I'm doing," Toby confirmed, clapping Jason on the shoulder. "I just…I can't let her go through with it without knowing how I feel."

The elder sighed heavily, but some degree of uncertainty seemed to dissolve from his expression. He raised a knuckle to rap lightly at the door.

"Emily, your mom needs you," he called. With that, he took a step back and offered Toby a short nod. "All right, man. It's up to you from here on out."

"Thanks, Jason," Toby said gratefully. "I'd say that I'll let you know how it goes, but…"

"But I'll know either way in about ten minutes," Jason chuckled darkly, walking backwards slowly to return to the main hall. "I'm gonna go make sure her mom stays occupied."

Spencer's older brother had just disappeared from view when the door flew open, a very harried Emily scurrying out and shutting it discreetly behind her. It took him a moment to recognize her, if he was being honest. Her black hair was pulled up into a sleek ponytail of curls, she was wearing more makeup than he had perhaps ever seen her in, and the lavender tone of the satin gown countered her complexion in a way that gave her the illusion of being more tan than she already was.

"Hey, Em, you look nice," he offered kindly.

She scoffed impatiently, taking him by the wrist to yank him a few feet away from the door. When she turned to him, her dark eyes were blazing with a panicked intensity.

"Are you sure about this?" she whispered suspiciously, her gaze flickering toward the main hall to ensure that no one was coming their way.

He took both of her hands in his, raising them into the air between their bodies and shaking them gently with a confident fervor.

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

Her expression softened at this, a somber sort of smile teasing her glossy lips. She squeezed his hands in a way that gave him the distinct impression that she was attempting to send him positive vibes.

"I'll watch the door," she said quietly.

He raised her hands to his lips to quickly kiss them with appreciation, sprinting back toward the dressing room. In the pause that it took him to gather his bearings, he chanced one last glance at her. She nodded reassuringly.

He inhaled deeply, took the knob in his hand, and pulled it open.

"Please, _please_ tell me someone found my – "

She turned to face him, and the world stopped.

"…bouquet."

She was a vision of exquisite perfection. The immaculate white hue of her gown was complementary to her porcelain skin, and she appeared to be emitting an ethereal glow all her own. The bodice hugged her lithe frame in all the right places, pressing her breasts into a tasteful curvature above the top hem. Her hair had been tousled by a curling iron, long curtains of ringlets framing the delicate planes of her face. As she stepped hesitantly forward he saw that the dress pooled into a long train that extended out behind her, giving the illusion that she was a weightless goddess gliding effortlessly across the floor.

It took him a moment to find his voice. And even when he did, it was difficult to speak past the emotional lump lodged in his throat.

"You look beautiful, Spence," he breathed.

She pressed her scarlet lips together uncertainly. "Toby, what are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," he said quickly. "To tell you that you're making a huge mistake."

She sighed with what could only be considered polite impatience, her face scrunching up in sadness. It was a morbid thing to think, but he was somehow uplifted at the realization that seeing him was just as painful for her as it was for him.

"Now?" she asked hoarsely. "You've come to tell me that _now_?"

He took a step toward her, wrapping her trembling hands into his.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm so, so sorry."

Her eyes were glistening with incoming tears, and she diverted her gaze to the floor.

"You can't do this to me," she whimpered. "You had months to make a move – you had a chance – but you didn't say anything. And I just…I thought…if you had moved on, then…"

"No," he interrupted firmly, his fingers sliding across the curve of her jaw. "I haven't moved on. I've never moved on. I didn't say anything sooner because I didn't want to put you in that position."

"So you pick _now_?" she scoffed bitterly. "Toby, I know that timing wasn't always your strong suit, but this breaks records!"

"I know," he said shakily. "And I've been arguing with myself for weeks about whether I wanted to do the selfish thing – whether I wanted to tell you how I feel."

A stray tear escaped from beneath her eyelashes, cascading down her pronounced cheekbone. Instinctively, he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.

"I – I didn't know what else to do. I thought you didn't want anything to do with me. And then – then my parents…they love Wren…and I just…" She inhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath. "I _wanted_ you to do the selfish thing. I wanted you to tell me I was wrong. That you still wanted to be with me."

"I do," he breathed, fighting to ignore the stinging in the corners of his eyes. He pressed his lips to her forehead – to her cheeks – her nose, her chin – anywhere that could be deemed chivalrous territory right now – with such fervor that it caused her to sob quietly. "I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, Spencer Hastings, and I can't stand the idea of you spending your life with someone who isn't me."

She brought a shaky hand to her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut as if to close off the floodgates. It caused him literal physical pain to see her in such a state, but he continued.

"I know that you love me, too," he whispered, and he found this his voice was raspy with the threat of tears. "I _know_ you do."

"Of course I do," she wailed softly. "But I love Wren, too."

It felt as though someone were squeezing his heart precariously in hand, ready to smash it into oblivion. Regardless, he pushed on.

"Do you love him more than you love me?" he asked quietly, his voice breaking. The prospective answer terrified him to his very core, but he had to know. "If you tell me you do, I'll walk away. I'll walk away and we'll pretend this never happened. And you can go on with your life."

She brought her eyes to his, and the candor in their chocolate depths made his soul ache with sorrow. Her face began to swim out of focus as the moisture collected in his line of vision, and he soon felt warm droplets dribbling down his chin.

"I could never love anyone more than I love you," she said, her words punctuated by involuntary sobs. "I love Wren, but it isn't the same. It's – it's security, and comfort. It isn't passionate or unpredictable like it was with you. He doesn't give me butterflies. He doesn't make me weak in the knees when he kisses me. Nobody ever has – nobody except for you."

And suddenly, he didn't care if it wasn't appropriate. He smashed his lips onto hers with unprecedented hunger, sliding his hands around to the small of her back and pulling him more tightly against his frame. She responded with equal enthusiasm, moaning quietly into his mouth as he darted his tongue across hers. Her hands were wrapping around the back of his neck, her nails fishing into his hair and scratching at his scalp in a manner that had always been utterly debilitating.

When he pulled away they both inhaled deeply, fighting to catch their breath. There were tearstains coursing down her face, spreading lines across her once flawless makeup.

But if possible, she was more beautiful than she had been the moment he stepped through the door.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his azure eyes darting back and forth between hers.

"Marry me," he pleaded quietly. "Come with me and I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Vegas – the courthouse – anywhere."

She laughed in amused surprise, her mouth spreading into a wide smile.

"Toby…"

"I'm serious," he said with fiery conviction. "I swear, Spencer, I'll marry you today. It should have been me this whole time. And I should have been smart enough to realize that months ago."

Her smile faltered in slight as his meaning began to sink in, and suddenly she inhaled sharply as if she had forgotten to breathe.

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack," he murmured. "You're my world. And if you'll have me – if you'll take me back – I'll never make you wait for me again."

Her eyes were blazing with intensity as her face slowly began to light up. And then, at long last, she shook her head emphatically.

"I don't want to wait, either."

His heart swelled to twice its size, and it seemed so cramped in his ribcage that it was somehow satisfyingly painful. He was pulling her in for another kiss, lifting her clear off her feet, when the door swung open.

"I finally found – oh, my God."

It was Hanna and Aria, with a frenzied Emily stumbling up frantically behind them, an expression of sorrowful apology on her face.

"I – your bouquet," Hanna mumbled pathetically, pointing to it with her free hand.

"I won't be needing it," Spencer declared with newfound confidence. "I'm leaving."

There was a beat. And then Hanna's loud _whoosh_ing exhale broke the silence.

"Thank God," she muttered. "I thought I was going to have to spend the rest of my life doting on tiny British godchildren."

Emily smiled at him from behind the girls, and he returned the hopeful gaze.

Aria was grinning widely, her hands clasped in front of her mouth with giddy excitement.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to get your act together," she told Toby brashly.

He exchanged a look with Spencer, who seemed just as delightfully surprised as him.

"Oh, I'm so happy for you!" Hanna cooed. Toby was being pushed unceremoniously out of the way as the three girls crowded Spencer into a group hug, laughing tearfully at the twist of fate.

He didn't quite understand women.

"Caleb owes me twenty bucks," Hanna said in a muffled voice from somewhere in the depths of the huddle. The girls shared a laugh, and Toby could not help but chuckle a bit himself.

"All right," Spencer announced after a beat, pulling back and taking a deep breath. "What's the most polite way to cancel a wedding?"


	8. Strength In Despair

**"PROMPT"**: _plzzzzzzzzzzzz write something. anything. a 200 word drabble. a sentence a quote. a title. a word. anything about spoby. dyingggggg without any of your writing_.

**RESPONSE**_: Hi anon. I love you with every fiber of my being. And because you asked so nicely, I produced a short drabble for you that just occurred to me on a whim. I'm sorry if it's terrible. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Please let me know if you like it. PS - I'm hoping to write some more this week. My husband just got a new job so A.) that's some stress off our household and B.) gives me more alone time to do what I love.)_

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**STRENGTH IN DESPAIR**

He hated when Spencer cried. The sounds of her anguished sobs wracking the insides of her body was likened to pins and needles piercing the sensitive layers of his flesh, prodding him into a state of hyper vigilant anxiety.

He could not stand to hear her in such agony, gasping desperately for the air the continued to evade her.

But despite how much he hated to see her in such pain, the vulnerability that came with the open flood gates often made her more beautiful than ever.

The image of tear tracks cascading down her face, shimmering along the planes of her cheek bones. The way that her fiery russet eyes fizzled and burned out beneath the pools of saline that coalesced against her bottom lids, balancing precariously for but a moment before they spilled over. How the beads of moisture clung to her eye lashes and bled out the ink of her mascara.

She was exposed. Every pretense torn away in unceremonious disregard, only authentic rawness remnant in its place.

She was alive. Despite all the daily hoops she jumped through, she was not immune to overexertion.

And most importantly, she trusted him to see this side of her. And this hauntingly beautiful occasion only made him love her all-the-more.

In the past she may have been far more wary of allowing him to witness such a delicate unraveling, but not anymore. Somewhere along the line, she had grown to understand that he accepted her for everything: her perfections, her imperfections, and anything in between. She had realized that there was nothing wrong or disreputable about allowing him to just be _there_ for her, pulling her close to his chest and smoothing down her hair as her heart palpitations slowed back to their usual rate and her ragged breathing was reduced to slow, even inhalations. He would sometimes hold her long after she had stopped crying, just enjoying the notion that his own arms provided her sanctuary.

These moments - these tiny, temporary moments in which Spencer Hastings allowed herself to break down and reflect on her humanity for a brief period of time - they were both precious and humbling, and served to remind Toby that even the strongest person he knew could sometimes break down. She may have perceived her emotional undoing as a weakness - but he saw it as just another facet of her being that strengthened everything she stood for. After all, strength is not solely defined by a person's capacity to endure countless hardships simultaneously and subsequently deal with them in relaxed stride. It is defined by their ability to submit to the feelings of overwhelmed distress and still persevere _despite_ the urge to shut everything off.

She was the strongest person he knew. And as much as it pained him to see her cry, he knew that these rare occasions were merely additional proof of such endurance. He would always be there to comfort her in these times of crisis, but in the back of his mind he would always be watching in wonderment, utterly amazed by the fact that such a big heart dwelled so comfortably in such a small girl.


	9. My Darling Angel

**PROMPT: ****And I saw that you were taking prompts and I have that want/need for a spoby fic just after Spencer gave birth to their first child, that goes just after the nurse puts the baby on her and Toby is there and they're just sharing this moment.**

(_**Disclaimer:** I know very little about child birth, I'm embarrassed to say. So I hope I got the necessary information correct!_)

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**My Darling Angel**

Sixty-two minutes. That's how long it had been since Spencer's doctor had wheeled her out of the semi-private room and into the O.R. for an emergency Cesarean. And try as he might, he had not yet been able to eradicate the image of her blanched, exhausted face from his mind. The entire exchange was stuck on repeat.

"Heart rate's dropping – fast," the nurse had declared in a thinly-masked panic, dark chocolate eyes roving the obstetrician's for his expert opinion.

There had been very little hesitation. "Let's move."

Before Toby could even comprehend the meaning of their words, Spencer's hand had begun to fall slack in his own. Her eyes were fluttering shut, as if she had been too weakened to hold them open. His heart had instantaneously taken a nosedive into his stomach.

"What? What's happening?" he demanded, his voice coming out sounding far frailer than he had intended. No sooner than he had posed the precarious question than he was being gently maneuvered away from her bedside to make room for the nurses to kick the locking mechanisms up on its wheels.

Nobody had answered. He had made his way to follow suit, only to have Dr. Washburn place a halting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh," he had said quickly, retreating even as he spoke. "I'm going to need you to go wait with the others."

And just like that, he had vanished, leaving Toby to choke quietly on the lump that had burgeoned in his esophagus.

He wasn't sure how long he had stood there in stupefied horror. He knew very little about childbirth, but the facts were hard to miss. He could lock enough pieces together to understand that his wife, the woman he had risked his life for on countless occasions – and his firstborn child – were in danger.

And for once, this was not the sort of fate he could rescue her from. He was utterly powerless to prevent it.

At the same time, it seemed as though the information could not completely process. Like a computer that had been frozen in a loading screen for far too long. Perhaps it was the fact that he was in shock. Or maybe the notion that if he allowed himself to understand the full, unbridled gravity of the situation, he would collapse under the anguish of its implications. Maybe a bit of both.

After some indiscernible amount of time he had wandered back to the waiting room, distantly aware of the eyes of his friends plastered desperately upon him. Hanna had immediately opened her mouth, to inquire about his forlorn expression no doubt, before Aria had warningly squeezed her hand.

He could feel Emily's eyes boring into his soul, permeating the weak shield he had attempted to create. Out of everyone in the room, she knew him best. She could damn near read his thoughts. He felt suddenly vulnerable under her scrutinizing stare, as if she were peeling away at layers of skin.

Jason and Caleb had exchanged a look. He didn't know if it was 'father's intuition,' but they clearly understood the situation with instantaneous disdain.

He hadn't said a word. And nobody had prodded him for the information. Instead he collapsed tiredly into a chair on the far side of the room, his gaze trained mindlessly on the nearest wall, willing himself to hold back the tears.

And there he had sat. For – he briefly glanced at his watch – sixty-four minutes, now.

He could hear the others talking in a quiet hush behind him. It was only after the nurse's aid had approached the group in the waiting room to alert them that Spencer was still in surgery that the others had any clue of what was happening. Jason had spent a good deal of time on the phone with Peter afterward, updating him on the situation with an unfamiliar rasp in his voice. Spencer's parents were at a conference out of state, as usual, and unable to attend the momentous occasion.

Not that Toby particularly wanted them there, anyway. Especially in light of the new developments. Veronica would have been throwing a fit, threatening to sue any hospital employee that walked by. That's how the couple reacted to hardship, after all. With cold, hard threats.

It wasn't long after that Toby heard the sound of hesitant, shuffling footsteps approaching him from behind. When he caught a whiff of freshly mown grass and potent mulch, he knew precisely who it was. Jason was, after all, one of the most renowned landscapers in Rosewood these days.

He said nothing at first. Merely lowered himself into the seat beside Toby, the gaze of his sea-green eyes following Toby's own visual trajectory. Rather silly, really. Now there were _two _grown men uselessly studying the drywall instead of one.

"What's taking so long?" Toby muttered quietly. He hadn't even realized he was speaking until the words were already out of his mouth.

Jason inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment. "It feels longer than it is," he said softly. "I remember when the doctors realized Blake was breached. Aria was sobbing through the whole C-section, squeezing my hand so hard I thought she'd break all my fingers. But I couldn't let her know that I was scared, too. I didn't want to make things worse." He turned to face him, and Toby could see him assessing his features out of his peripheral vision. "Minutes turn into hours in this kind of situation."

"At least you got to be there for the surgery," Toby breathed. "At least if I was in there, I'd know what's going on."

There was a beat before Jason spoke again. And when he did, he sputtered uncertainly over his words. "I-I don't know that it would be any better."

He was right, of course, to a certain extent. It would probably just perpetuate his anxiety. And the more panicked he became, the more stress the doctors would be under. And who knows what impact that would have on their concentration. All he would succeed in accomplishing was exuding negative energy throughout the room.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. The tiny imperfections in the white paint on the walls had become suddenly fascinating once more. Toby glanced down at his watch again. Sixty-nine minutes.

Jason broke the silence for a second time. "Do you remember when Spencer was in Radley?"

There was a rogue, irritated balloon that instinctively began to inflate in his chest at the inquiry. For the first time, he brought his eyes to meet Jason's to ensure he properly conveyed his disapproval of the conversation topic.

"Is this really a good time, Jas?" he asked wearily.

Jason seemed unperturbed by his sudden annoyance. "We all thought she was bottoming out," he continued, as if not interrupted. "It was the first time any of us had really seen a chink in her armor. She was always so strong. So confident. None of us ever could have guessed."

Toby gulped involuntarily, finding that the lump in his throat had not yet dislodged itself. He waited for Jason to finish.

"But she handled it," Jason said. "She saw a glimpse of what it looked like to be at rock bottom, and she clawed her way back out of the hole."

The memory was unfailingly vivid in Toby's mind. He had never quite forgiven himself for contributing to her breakdown. But Jason was right – even in her darkest hour, her Hastings fire had triumphed. Even when she was grasping at straws, Spencer had a knack for taking them and building a damn life raft. She was stronger than anyone he knew. She always had been.

Jason offered a sad smile as he watched the wheels turning in Toby's head. He silently reached out to clap a hand supportively on Toby's knee.

"If anyone can get through this, it's her."

The words were simple, but they echoed around the caverns of Toby's mind on repeat. And in that brief moment, a portion of the weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders.

"Mr. Cavanaugh?"

He was on his feet in an instant, Jason following suit. Dr. Washburn stood behind the line of chairs, rubbing the sanitizer in on his hands.

Toby took the split-second of silence to interpret the doctor's features. He seemed calm enough. Perhaps even pleased? There did not appear to be any signs of distress or guilt on his face. But maybe he was the type that didn't let his work get to him. Maybe he had just been in the field for so many years that he was unfazed by bad news.

Maybe –

"Spencer's resting and Baby Girl Cavanaugh is being cleaned up. Would you like to come back?"

Jason grabbed onto his elbow only a fraction of a second before Toby's knees buckled, as if anticipating the weakness that would travel through his appendages. It was though he had suddenly been unceremoniously launched from a rigid stupor, and every part of his body took on the likeness of gelatin. Thanks to Jason's assistance, however, he gained control back quickly.

"Thank you," he breathed, hastily falling into line behind the physician. He chanced a glance at Jason, who was offering a wide grin. He was suddenly grateful for the elder's support. He and Spencer's half-brother had never been close, per se, but Jason always seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it. And for that, Toby had always appreciated his company.

The moment the door to the hospital room was open, Toby darted to his wife's bedside. She looked tired and some version of semi-conscious, but the attractive pink pigments had returned to their proper locations atop the mounds of her cheekbones. He wrapped her hand in his own, lowering his face to the bridge of her hairline and pressing his lips there for much longer than he ordinarily would.

"You can't scare me like that, Spence," he murmured softly, his nose still buried in her dark brown locks, quietly inhaling her scent and committing it to memory.

She did not reply. Instead she curled one arm upward to gently scratch at the nape of his neck, leaning her head closer to his chest. He could tell from her shallow breathing that she had probably scared herself, just as much as him.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, silently appreciating the other's presence, until the door opened beside them. A nurse was approaching with a tiny pink bundle wrapped in her arms, a congratulatory smile decorating her features.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh, meet your new baby girl."

Spencer immediately began hoisting herself into a more proper sitting position, succeeding only after Toby stabilized her enough to help. The nurse was twisting her arms to transfer the baby into Spencer's hold, and after a moment Toby got a full look at her face.

His heart skipped a beat and he felt an unfamiliar stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes. Never before had he thought it was possible to fall in love with something so quickly.

"I'll give you a few minutes," the nurse announced gently, retreating from the room. Toby did not even notice her leaving. He was utterly mesmerized by the tiny little human in front of him.

"Hi there, sweetie," Spencer eked out, a joyous sob clearly punctuating her words. Toby leaned over her frame, quietly nuzzling his face against the side of hers to gather his bearings. If she was going to cry, it was all but inevitable for him, too. One of his hands had idly reached out to stroke his daughter's plump, pink face. Her skin was soft and flawless beneath the calloused ridges of his fingers, and he thought for a moment that he must have been touching the blanket instead by accident.

He wanted to say something, but every possible word was stuck in his throat. It was like looking upon the purest, most exquisite thing in all of God's creation. No words could even express the wonder and amazement he felt. And even if something did feel appropriate, his voice box was rendered entirely useless for the moment, pinned against the raw clump of emotion that had settled at the base of his throat.

"What should we name her?" Spencer asked at last, leaning her head to press her cheek more firmly to his. He could feel the hot presence of tears on her face.

He hesitated. Truthfully, in his opinion, there wasn't a name in the world that could match the perfection of the tiny miracle in his wife's arms.

But luckily, Spencer was already speaking once more.

"How about Marion?" she murmured.

Toby inhaled sharply, and suddenly the gigantic tidal wave of emotion that had been hanging over his head all morning was engulfing him whole. His eyes were now swimming behind a wall of tears, his heart aching with every beat. He hadn't the faintest idea two hours ago just how much emotion he could endure all at once. He wasn't even entirely sure he was successfully enduring it _now_. He felt a surprising wave of exhaustion befall him, but somehow, simultaneously, a magnificent spark of energy and liveliness. It was intoxicating.

He wanted to thank her. Wanted to tell her just how much this simple gesture meant to him. But any and all pearls of wisdom were escaping him, lost in the catacombs of his racing mind.

So he simply pressed his lips to the side of her head in a firm but gentle kiss, concentrating on controlling his increasingly labored breaths.

"I love you," he whispered against her temple, choking on his own words.

He could feel the muscles tighten in the side of her face as she smiled tearfully at his proclamation. "I love you, too."


	10. Heart to Heart

**PROMPT:** _AU - Toby is popular and Spencer is nerdy, and they end up talking._

**A/N:** _So, this totally took on a life of its own and ended up being way longer than normal prompts. Hope you like it!_

* * *

**Heart-To-Heart**

"Don't be late to practice again, okay?" Noel commanded, pointing the football in Toby's direction. "I may be your best friend – but as team captain, I have a reputation to keep."

Toby rolled his eyes good-naturedly, delivering Noel a mock salute. "Aye aye, Captain."

"Now that's more like it!" Noel declared, disappearing into the crowd of students traveling in the opposite direction.

Adjusting his backpack, Toby began the trek to chemistry, feeling considerably less enthusiastic about oxidation reactions than the big Homecoming game approaching this weekend. Coach Caravella had made it quite clear that Toby was to improve his marks in science by next card marking, or he would be temporarily benched until further notice.

Which meant it was quite lucky that he had scored the smartest girl in school as his lab partner. Spencer Hastings was a tiny, mousy girl, with glasses that were too big for her face and a wardrobe that looked like her mother had dressed her in her own image. Other than Hefty Hanna Marin, she didn't have many friends, as far as he could tell. Alison had made sure of that when her ex-boyfriend, Andrew Campbell, asked her to one of the middle school dances. Spencer and Andrew had dated off and on ever since, and Alison…well…Alison was –

As if on cue, a mass of curly blond hair skipped through his peripheral vision, and a tiny hand encircled his.

"Miss me?" she cooed, her lips making contact with the curve of his jaw. He could smell the strawberry scent of the lip-gloss stain she left behind, which she affectionately began wiping away.

He slipped an arm around her tiny frame, pulling her in for a sideways hug as they walked. "Always."

"So, I was thinking…" she began, her voice taking on a singsong tone. That usually meant she was about to ask him for something. "I know I bought the gold dress for Homecoming, but I just don't think it's going to look right with my tan. Mom's pissed, of course. Something about dipping into her cruise fund to buy it? I don't know. So anyway, I talked CeCe into trading dresses, and now I'll be wearing a white chiffon with an A-line bodice." As if to demonstrate, she stepped away enough to draw the imaginary hem in front of her body, her expressive blue eyes bright and hopeful. "What do you think?"

He wasn't very good at paying attention when she rambled off like that, if he was being totally honest. Not only did he have zero interest in female formal wear, but also Ali had a bad habit of talking until his ears bled. He felt guilty sometimes for thinking of her that way. She was his girlfriend, after all. But sometimes her superficiality made him feel a bit itchy.

He knew that he was too, of course. Superficial. He spent far more time than necessary judging others for their social status and laughing at Noel's misogynist "Hottie Meter" rankings for the female student body. But there was also a part of him that enjoyed sitting on the porch swing and reading his tattered paperback of Catcher in the Rye, or watching Hitchcock films with his mother. Occasionally he even liked to try his hand at some writing of his own, though he had never spoken of it to anyone. Ali, least of all.

"Toby!" she cried impatiently after his beat of hesitation.

"Sounds beautiful," he said at last, making his best attempt at offering a smile. "What do you need me to wear?"

This seemed to appease her enough, for she had grinned happily and fallen back into step at his side.

The chemistry classroom was his least favorite place in the entire building. It had the perpetual scent of residual chemicals, and he hated going to practice smelling like sulfur. If that wasn't enough, the room itself was often stuffy and warm, which made sitting through lectures that much more unbearable.

He was surprised when he arrived at his lab table before Spencer. He had never beaten her there before, and she hadn't missed a day of school since kindergarten.

He was digging his folder out of his backpack when he heard it. The most paralyzing sound in the world for a teenage boy.

Sniffles. A girl was crying.

No sooner had he lifted his head to investigate than Spencer, red-eyed and looking harried, plopped down into the seat next to him. She immediately began pulling all of her supplies out, slamming them down with deliberate hostility as she choked back angry sobs. He tried to look away, but it was like watching a car wreck occur in slow motion.

As she pulled her binder out, a harem of keys clattered noisily to the table. She began to throw them back in before something caught her eye. It was a flimsy plastic keychain photograph of her and Andrew at some kind of academic dinner. She looked at it silently for a moment, and then, in one swift movement, yanked it free from its metal ring. Without so much as a second thought, she lit the Bunsen burner and held the photo over the flame. Within seconds, the noxious smell of burning plastic was invading his nostrils.

"Um…hey," he began pathetically, for lack of anything better to say.

Her head snapped in his direction, eyes blazing with a fiery intensity that rivaled the flame simultaneously burning away her boyfriends face. It was as though she was just noticing him for the first time, and that his presence was striking her as dreadfully inconvenient.

"What?" she snapped. He recoiled instinctively.

"Nothing," he amended quickly, turning back to his folder and pretending to be very interested in reviewing last night's homework.

There was a beat. And then, when the picture was melted to her satisfaction, she tossed it into the trashcan beside their station, sighing heavily. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The question caught him off-guard. He was both perplexed and slightly amused at her audacity to ask the question, when she was the one who was clearly on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"Excuse me?"

"You! Andrew! _Men!_" she ranted, her toffee colored eyes burning daggers into his own cerulean ones.

"Uh…" he began helplessly. He wasn't sure there was any safe way to answer the question. "We're all jerks?"

"Yes!" she declared, slamming her hand onto the table with such ferocity that he actually jumped a bit. "Thank you!"

He winced. "You're welcome?"

But she was no longer paying him any attention. Instead, she had begun to jot down the notes on the board, her characteristic grace and focus returning so rapidly that he felt he might get whiplash.

"My house, after school," she said authoritatively.

He could do nothing but stare at her in confused horror he could not contain.

Once she interpreted his expression, she sighed impatiently. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Cavanaugh. I mean our lab report. It's due on Friday and I want to get a head start."

Oh, shit. He had almost forgotten about it entirely.

"I have practice," he said quietly, afraid that if he spoke much louder he'd set her off again.

She groaned. "Fine, afterwards. Come straight over."

Part of him was shocked at her gall, but mostly he just felt oddly emasculated by her demands. Where did she get off talking to him that way? He was not her boyfriend. They weren't really even friends.

He wanted to tell her just how inappropriate she was being. Make it a point to express that he did not appreciate her assuming she could push him around. He was Toby Cavanaugh, goddamnit.

But instead, he just uttered a meek, "Okay."

He knew where she lived. Everyone in Rosewood had lived in the tiny town their entire lives, and most of their parents for their whole lives before that. The population was small and the neighbors were chummy. There were frequent town galas and homeowners committees and block parties and other such events for people to mingle with one another. Everybody knew everybody. And if that wasn't weird enough, he was well aware that his mother had once been best friends with Veronica Hastings in elementary school.

Until she became a_ 'pretentious, two-faced, holier-than-thou, shameless charlatan', _of course.

His mother had recited the rant so many times, he knew it by heart.

Spencer was home alone, which he also happened to know was not out of the ordinary, care of his mother's tendency to gossip about Veronica's personal business. She was seated on the couch when he walked in. It took him a moment to recognize her, if he was being honest. She had clearly changed when she got home, and had traded her blazer and pencil skirt for a lacrosse t-shirt and sweatpants. Her usually pristine hair was tied into a lazy braid at the nape of her neck, and when she leaned over to grab a book from the coffee table, her shirt rode up enough that he could see the tiny dimples that dipped down beside her spine.

"God, how long do they make you run around that field for?" she asked before he had even reached the couch.

"Too long," he replied, unable to suppress a chuckle. He sat down beside her and began to extract his things. "Are you…um…"

"Better?" she quipped helpfully. A tiny blush rose in her cheeks and she averted her eyes. "Much. Thanks."

The new pink pigments of her skin were flattering, and he found himself smiling a bit, involuntarily. He unearthed his lab manual and began flipping to the appropriate page.

She cleared her throat. "About earlier…I'm…um…"

"Sorry?" he finished, his eyes coming back to meet hers. She looked so sheepish under his gaze that he felt a bit guilty for putting her on the spot.

"Yeah. That."

The corner of his lip curled upward in a half-hearted smile, and he returned his concentration to the instructions for the lab report.

There was an awkward pause. And then, she with a dejected sigh, she did something he was not expecting. She pulled his folder out of his reach in what appeared to be an attempt to steal back his focus.

"Listen, I'm trying to make conversation."

"Okay…" he said uncertainly, leaning back against the couch cushions.

With his attention back on her, she seemed to become a bit shy once more. She was wringing her hands together in what could have been nervous apprehension. "We've been lab partners for a long time – and I mean, we've known each other for a long time – but we've never really talked. I don't _really _know you as a person. I'm sure you're a perfectly nice guy. And it was unfair of me to jump up your ass this afternoon."

The sound of her swearing made him chuckle a bit, which resulted in an immediate self-conscious look of terror in her eyes. "It's okay, it happens," he offered. Alison had done it to him countless times, after all. She usually blamed it on PMS, but he knew better. There was no woman in the world that had raging hormones all 31 days of the month. "I'm sorry to hear that Andrew upset you."

"I'm not upset," she snapped quickly, her defenses rearing back up. "I'm glad. I'm _glad_ that two-timing asshole is out of my life."

As soon as she said it, the blush returned. Her eyes flitted away from his.

She was practically bleeding insecurity in front of him, making feeble attempts at covering the gaping wounds with Band-Aids. And for some odd reason, his heart immediately went out to her.

"It's not fun getting cheated on," he murmured.

"So you _do_ know?" she said flatly. "About him and Alison?"

He froze. The silence that punctuated the air was disrupted only by the sound of the clock ticking above the mantle.

"What?" he mumbled.

Her expression mutated into something that resembled a deer caught in headlights, and she began to frantically shake her head. "No – did I say Alison? I meant Emily – "

"Emily is a lesbian," he interrupted, his voice catching in his throat. "Spencer…"

"I'm sorry!" she cried immediately, putting a comforting hand on his knee. She withdrew it almost at once, as if unsure whether she had crossed a line in the realm of personal space. "It's just – I figured – Hanna saw them – and they…they…" She paused to take a deep breath, letting it out in a loud _'whoosh.'_ "We were pretty much the last ones to know, Toby."

It took him a moment to unglue his eyes from hers, but once he did, he felt his thoughts begin to gather in place once more. He should have been hurt. He should have been upset – or at least angry, if nothing else. But Alison had cheated on him before. Countless times. And after a while, it stopped hurting the same way. It was like expecting an infant to stop crying, or a tiger to change its stripes. It was frivolous to expect her to be anybody _but_ Alison. It was part of her nature – and he had long ago come to terms with the fact that her promiscuity was not his fault.

The only thing that was his fault was staying with her. Allowing her to parade him around on her arm like he was a ridiculous bangle or expensive purse. Letting her drag him down with her into a world of manipulation and petty games.

"Yeah," he said darkly. "Well, I guess it is what it is."

There was a pause. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not the first time. I'm not going to waste my brain cells thinking about it."

Another beat. "Toby…that's…"

"Terrible?" he cut in. "Yeah."

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Spencer said lightly, making a frail attempt at a joke. "We've been finishing each other's sentences since you got here."

He smiled in spite of himself, bringing his eyes back to meet hers. She looked so small and innocent with her knees pulled up to her chest, the russet pools of her irises glistening with the threat of incoming tears. She was good at putting on a tough face, but she was clearly not okay.

"I'm sorry about Andrew, though," he offered. "You didn't deserve that."

She scoffed light-heartedly. "How do you know what I deserve? Maybe I'm a terrible person."

"No," he chuckled. "You're not." He took a deep breath, feeling as though his heart was constricting behind his ribcage. "But I might be."

"No," she echoed. "You're Toby Cavanaugh. You put on a face for the world, but you're more than that. You love to read – I've seen you with _Catcher in the Rye_ at the Grille a million times. You were the only person from the 'in-crowd' who tried to make Alison stop spreading rumors about me in middle school. And when I wiped out on my bike in the first grade and hurt my knee, you walked me home."

He looked at her carefully, waiting for the laughter to ensue. Expected her to burst into hysterics and announce that she was kidding. But her expression remained sincere.

"And you're Spencer Hastings," he began quietly. "You've been class president since you popped out of the womb, basically. You drink so much coffee that you probably have more caffeine than blood in your veins. You once punched Noel in the face for calling Hanna fat." His lips turned upward in a sad, somber smile. "And you're afraid you'll never be able to get out of your sister's shadow."

There was a moment of silence as they both digested the dynamic shift of the atmosphere. He felt suddenly uncomfortable with how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be, and sheepishly turned away.

"We should probably get started on the – "

He was cut off by a wild mane of chocolate brown hair rocketing in his direction, and Spencer's mouth was crashing onto his. Her lips were soft and warm, not cold and slippery with gloss like Alison's, and she smelled faintly of coffee grounds and cinnamon. The scent was immediately comforting to his heavy heart in a way he could not explain.

Before he even had proper time to react, she was already pulling away, a look of unabashed horror on her face. "I'm so sorry," she began huskily. "I – I didn't mean – I shouldn't have – I just thought – "

It was his turn, this time, to cut her short. He seized her by the curves of her jaw and pulled her face back, his lips molding to the shape of hers. Some of the tension seemed to fade from her body, for she relaxed limply into his frame, fingertips dancing precariously against his hipbones. He shuddered a bit, involuntarily, opening his mouth against hers to allow her more intimate access. His nerve-endings were on fire, and his jeans suddenly felt considerably tight around his mid-section. Unable to help himself, his hands dove up through the bottom of her shirt, grasping desperately at her shoulder blades to press her tiny body closer to his. The feeling of her breasts flush against his chest was intoxicating, and he felt suddenly quite dizzy.

And then, in one swift movement, he gripped her below the thighs and flipped her over onto her back. He hovered above her for a moment, looking down at her to assess her features. Her lips were swollen from the pressure of his, her eyes sparkling in the light of the sunset pouring through the windows from outside.

When he spoke, his voice was raspier than usual. "Do you…um…want – ?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling his head back to hers.

The sun had set completely by the time it was over, the newly-risen moon casting its glow across the planes of their naked figures entwined beneath a threadbare afghan on the couch. He was running his fingers through her hair mindlessly, enjoying the way her hand felt resting against his shoulder. It was hard to explain, really, but being with her like this was probably the best he had felt all day. Maybe even ever.

He nestled his nose back into the roots of her hair, breathing in her scent once more. It had grown to represent something soothing for him over the course of the evening, and he quite liked committing it to memory.

"That's probably the most fun I've ever had studying," Spencer said, a girlish sort of giggle in her voice. He could feel the muscles of her face tightening into a smile against his collarbone.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed.

And then he felt her face relax once more, and her fingers stopped their tracing of indiscernible shapes on his skin. He craned his neck a bit to look down at her.

"What?"

"I, um," she began sheepishly. "I don't really know how this works."

"How what works?"

"I mean – is it appropriate for me ask you if it will ever happen again? Or am I just supposed to go back to my daily life, avoiding you in the hallway, pretending it never happened? Do I wait for you to call me? Do I – ?"

"Spencer," he interrupted gently.

She peered up at him, her doe eyes crinkled in nervous wonder. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing for Homecoming?"


End file.
